One Word
by tuuli-p
Summary: A collection of Yuri on Ice drabbles inspired by one word.
1. Flannel

Out in public, Viktor is stylish. When his skating fans aren't caught up fawning over his technique his fashion fans are falling head over heels for his newest look. An outsider would speculate that his wardrobe is full of brand name suits with hefty price tags, complimented by an array of stylish jewelry. Even I had once thought that in the days when my walls were filled with still images of his immaculate physiognomy.

And now, as I did that man's laundry, I could only smirk.

When I had moved to Russia with him I didn't quite know what to expect of our domestic lives together. Having had him as a mentor for nearly a year had taught me that he was certainly not always perfect, as the media would have you know. Viktor Nikiforov was filled with many flaws. His short memory and disdain for household chores were gaping holes in the flawless image I once held of him. Holes much like the ones I had found in his old flannel shirts.

Viktor's flannel shirts had been a secret when I had first come to live with him. For some silly reason, my fiance was still trying to impress me. When he lounged about the house he was clad in those Gucci pajamas, laying back on the couch as if posing for a magazine. I always looked quite awkward sitting next to him, disheveled black hair paired off with a stained white shirt serving me well for sleepwear. Viktor never looked at me with even an ounce less of love when I dressed like this. It was silly of him to think that I would turn and love _him_ less for deigning to wear any less than Ralph Lauren.

I was never meant to find out about his flannel, shirts from cheap stores. They were all worn from age. Some frayed at the ends, some missing buttons, and one, in particular, was far too small for him. Viktor later told me that he did these decaying gems in the back of his closet so that I would never, ever find them. By mistake, I had come home early from a trip and witnessed the most natural Viktor I had ever been blessed with.

For once his hips were not pointed to accentuate his beautiful assets, his legs instead sprawling out awkwardly. Speaking of his hips, no Calvin Klein boxers were peeking out from the waistband of cheap-looking sweatpants. I found out later (when I removed said sweatpants) that he had actually been _completely_ bare beneath them. Viktor's supple skin, free and charming, would always mean more to me than a fancy label.

We had an awkward exchange that night. Viktor scrambled with his blankets to hide his plain sweatpants, hoping I hadn't witnessed him in the clothes of a mere mortal. What he failed to hide was the red flannel shirt draped across his form, a raggedy old thing with a few small holes. I remember laughing, so happy that he was proving to be a human just like me and not an impeccable model that I felt out of place next to.

After Viktor had accepted that I loved him, flannel and all, we made love. And while I did remove the sweatpants, that dingy flannel never came off his body. I found that I adored the feel of it, the cheap material feeling unfamiliar against his marble skin. Unfamiliar, but exciting.

That exact flannel shirt was balled up in my hands now, torn from its laundry basket. I couldn't help but smile and wonder if my fingernails desperately crawling into the fabric added any more holes to his shirt that night. Secretly, I hoped that they had and that I had been able to give his most hidden treasure my own little mark.


	2. Bottom

We tried our best to not discuss what we had just witnessed. The topic of conversation had been changed many times, many times to awkward subjects that neither of us truly cared about. But the occasional awkward laugh was much better than discussing _that._

"So, do you own any cats Otabek?" I muttered, staring down into my cup of tea. Thankfully I hadn't ordered any food, because my appetite had been dashed upon witnessing that horror. I already knew he didn't own a cat- I had asked him earlier, but I was searching for something to talk about besides...

He shook his head. "No. I own a dog though. He's a Great Dane named Odin."

I nodded. "That's pretty badass." And it was, but I already knew about Odin. When we discussed him earlier Otabek told me stories about how Odin would chase away anytning that he wasn't familiar with, which led to a lot of trouble when Otabek took the dog on a trip to New York City. It had been funny to hear about Otabek getting tripped up by the leash as his giant of a dog chased around chihuahuas and other animals that didn't pose a genuine threat, but nontheless scared him.

We sat through yet another silence. Earlier Otabek and I had kept a roaring conversation, one that kept me on the edge of my seat. He was an easy guy to talk to, but even he wasn't over what happened.

The cafe we were in was quiet, which furthered that dreadful sense of awkwardness. Why did we have to go to a quaint coffee shop? Any other establishment would be loud with the clanging of silverware and conversation. But this cafe was so damn _quiet,_ filled to capacity with college students tapping away at laptop keyboards, all silently focused on their assignments rather than the people around them. Otabek and I seemed to be the only ones who weren't regulars and didn't attend college in Barcelona.

A few moments ago, we hadn't been the only tourists.

I pressed my lips together, shutting my eyes quickly to erase the horrific image. At fifteen years old, even I could admit that I was too young to witness that. Was anyone ever old enough to behold such a disaster?

When I opened my eyes again to view Otabek's face, I decided there was no age that could handle that. He was eighteen and his expression was still one of terror.

I swallowed.

"We need to talk about that." He muttered quickly, so fast that his words seemed to meld together.

I cringed, my nose crinkling up. "No. What is there to even say about it?!"

"It was so _big,_ Yuri!"

"That was what you were focused on!?" I whisper-screamed, wanting to elevate my point but not wanting to raise it to the point that we got kicked out of here for noise.

Otabek sat back in his chair, trying to distance himself from my judgemental stare. "Well, that thing he had on just made it more obvious..."

Dumbfounded, I continued to gawk at my friend.

"Don't look at me like that! I didn't want to look, but it was just right there..." He growled, favoring to look at his cup of coffee instead of at me. Otabek looked ashamed and vaguely violated.

A sigh escaped my lips. Shamefully I propped my elbows up on the table, holding my head in my hands. I massaged my own head to calm myself down. "Yeah. I didn't wanna see it either but it was hard to look away."

"It's ok to wear things like that in the bedroom." Otabek nodded, trying to make sense of it all. "But in public? In a cafe?!"

"I know!" I exclaimed, "It wasn't even sexy. It was just..." I found myself pausing, looking for the right word.

Otabek tried to fill in the blanks. "Gross?"

Shaking my head, I disagreed. "Gross isn't enough. It's worse than gross. It was disgusting. Terrible. Tacky. Awful. Tch, I still feel nauseous."

What we witnessed remained unspoken. Neither of us wanted to recall the details of Chris's ass, and we especially didn't want to recall the _fuzzy pink g string_ that offensively peeked out of the top of his jeans. We didn't want to think about the curve of his large bottom any longer, but the image just wouldn't go away. It was tattooed on our eyeballs, threatening us with the image every time we blinked.

"It didn't help that he bent over so far when he ordered." Otabek visibly shuttered, hand moving to his stomach. He must have felt the nausea, too.

"No, what really didn't help was the way his stupid boyfriend looked at it." I pressed my teeth together, eye twitching. "He looked so... _Impressed."_

Otabek shrugged, eyes still wide. "I mean, I wouldn't mind my lover getting dressed up for me but that was so damn tacky."

"Keep it in the bedroom! No one has any business to be staining my eyes with that crap." I gagged on my words, offended that he even considered that sexy from a lover's standpoint.

He crossed his arms defensively over his chest. "It would have been okay if it didn't poke out of his jeans."

"No, it wouldn't be! You shouldn't ever wear lingerie in public. It's not the right place." I growled.

He nodded slowly, as if he had to process what I just said. "Yeah... Right. You're right."

"What's with that response? You seem awful hesitant." I muttered, settling back in my chair after all that argument.

Awkward silence was growing too familiar here. But Otabek's red face certainly was new.

"... Tiger stripe boxers don't count as lingerie in public, right?"

My eyes were wide now. I had been lazily stirring my tea before he spoke up again, but paused when he got that out. Why did he-

"Only if you're trying to impress someone with them." I choked on my words, trying to keep my cool. Was he really wearing those? The thought was kind of enticing..

I could hear him swallow all the way across the table. "I guess we need to go back to the hotel then, so I can put on underwear that offends you less."

Bold move, Otabek. I sighed, avoiding eye contact. "... It's fine. Keep them on. Unlike Chris, it probably actually makes your bottom look nice..."

And when we stood up to leave, I made sure to pay special attention to his bottom, just to make sure no boxers were poking out at the top of his jeans. But when I saw the tiger stripes, I found that not all bottoms were quite as offensive as Chris's. I just smiled and said nothing.


End file.
